


The Two Magicians

by avespika



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avespika/pseuds/avespika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara Oswald encounters an unusual bird. Based loosely on the British folk ballad with the same title. </p><p>Only sort of shipping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two Magicians

Clara had nearly finished shelving for the night when she heard the bell above the door ring, followed by footsteps echoing across the entryway. She turned and caught a brief flutter of black and red fabric vanishing behind a bookshelf near the door. None of the library’s usual patrons stopped by so late. She put down the biography she was holding and went to greet the newcomer.

She turned behind the bookshelf and found an empty aisle. The footsteps had stopped. “Hello! Who’s there?" She looked back around the corner. "Courtney, if you’re here to play another prank I will tell your parents this time and it won’t work anyway, I’ve set a pass word for the copy machine.”

She heard a sharp laugh, not quite a laugh, sort of a tweet. “Courtney, imitating bird song are we now? Clever way to make the librarian think she’s going mad, huh? Well my hearing isn’t that terrible, I know you’re hiding right…here!” Clara came around another corner and her eyes landed on a bird. Not a teenage disruptive influence but an actual bird, sitting at eye level on the shelving ladder. It was a beautiful creature, with shining black eyes set in sleek black feathers and a bright patch of red on its shoulder. She hadn’t seen anything like it before.

The flash of black and red had just been a bird. That didn’t account for the footsteps she’d heard but she supposed someone must have been walking past the outer door at just that moment. Yes, someone must have opened the door, let the bird in accidentally, decided they didn’t want to stop at the library after all, and kept walking. And now she had a bird to get rid of before she went home for the night.

She stepped closer to the creature. “Hello, handsome fellow, I’m afraid I’ve got to ask you to leave. The library is for humans only and, besides, we close in five minutes. Go on, hop out.” She motioned at the bird which remained steadfastly perched on the shelving ladder, looking down at her with its head cocked to the side.

“Come on, follow me, I’ll open the door, good birdie.” The bird buried its beak in its feathers, preening, but refused to budge.

Clara sighed. “I must sound crazy, trying to talk a bird out of my library,” she muttered as she picked up a magazine from a nearby table. She fanned the magazine at the bird. “Go on, get out.” The bird hopped a step higher up the ladder, out of Clara’s reach.

She paused a moment, considering her options. She didn’t have a net and all the baskets were filled with papers. What she did have was her jumper. She unfastened the buttons, slid it off, and draped it over her hands.

“Ok bird, this is the plan. I throw my jumper over you. You stay still. I scoop you up with the jumper, you remain still. I take the jumper outside and unwrap you, you fly away. Still, still, fly. Got that? Count of one, two, three-” she stepped on the ladder and launched her sweater at the bird. Well, at the step where the bird had been a moment before, at least. The damned thing had flown across the room and landed on a shelf of novels.

“Maybe a different approach. Can I lure you outside with food? I’ve got a banana, do you eat bananas? Crisps maybe?” The bird responded with another laughing tweet.

“I’m spending my Friday evening talking to a bird and the bird is laughing at me,” Clara huffed. “Think Oswald. Find a better solution. Maybe I should start by figuring out what sort of bird you are? Know thy enemy. Hmm. Let’s see, birds would be under zoology, 590s series.” She approached a low shelf and crouched down. “Don’t you move while my back is turned!” She ran her hands along the shelf, searching until- there. “ _Birds of Europe_ , I imagine you’ll be in here.” She lifted the book and carried it to a nearby table.

The bird drew closer, and perched across the table from her. It almost seemed like it was watching her thumb through the guide. Nonsense.

Fifteen minutes later she’d scanned all the entries that seemed like they might fit this bird. No luck. “You don’t seem to be here. Are you someone’s escaped pet?” She re-shelved _Birds of Europe_ and pulled out another volume. “ _The World Encyclopedia of Birds and Birding_. You’ve got to be listed here.” A few moments later she’d found her mark.

“Red-winged blackbird. _Agelaius phoeniceus_. Bit pretentious, ‘phoeniceus,’ for a little arsehole like you. Hmm. Native to North America. You’re far from home! Yes, you must be an escaped pet.” Did the bird just shake its head? Clara ground the heel of her hand against her forehead. She had to resolve to get out more. “Anyway, I think you must be someone’s escaped songbird. Guess I’ll have to put up flyers. What might work for a cage? Someone must be missing you, you sneaky little- ow!”

The bird was now perched on her head and had plucked one of her hairs. “What are you doing, you little—OUCH!" It stole another hair. She swatted it away. “Don’t get any ideas mister, yes, I know you’re a mister, it says right here based on your coloring you’re a mature male. Mature. Hah! Well act like it then. My hair is not to be used to build your nest. I’ve got to get you back to whatever idiot thought you’d make a good pet.”

“I’m no one’s pet so the cage won't be necessary, thank you.” Clara looked up and found the bird had vanished. In its place stood a frowning, grey-haired man. He wore a crisp white shirt and a dark jacket. She let out a brief, high scream.

“Shh, keep it down. It’s impolite to scream at a guest.” The man tucked his hands into his pockets. The tails of his coat flipped out, revealing a bright red lining. “And another thing, it’s disrespectful to call a visitor ‘mature.’ I’m nothing of the sort, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I’d hate to ruin my reputation.” The man flashed a grin at her before his face descended once more into a scowl. “Now that you’ve blown my cover I’m going to need your help, so you’d better catch up on hospitality considerations.”

“North American bird, Scottish accent?”

The man laughed. “Man becomes a bird and then a man again right here in your place of employment and the first thing you can think to do is to question his accent. You might be a bit of a loon but hey, that makes you useful. And anyway, the spell for that particular transformation comes from the magicians of the Ottawa tribe in North America. I can do a local bird next, if you like. I just fancy the color scheme of this model.”

“I’m sorry, magicians?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Yes, magicians, obviously. I suppose since I’ll be requesting your aid I should get on with a proper introduction. I’m called the Doctor. I specialize in physical transformations, but I’ve got other skills.”

“I’m Clara Oswald and, I’m sorry, but if you’re a magician what help could you want from a librarian?”

“I’d like to remain here overnight. You see, I’m being pursued by a, well, I guess you could call her a rival. At any rate she wants something from me, something I don’t want to give her. I need an unassuming place to plan my escape and maybe throw together something to defeat her. Enter your library, no one uses it at night anyway, I imagine.”

“Why should I let a strange man in a magician’s costume stay overnight unattended in a public building?”

“Not a costume! And you should let me stay because if you don’t I’ll turn you into a beluga whale. You’ve got the face for it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, your face is wide enough we could project a film on it.”

Clara crossed her arms. “About the other thing, the turning me into an animal thing!”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, unfortunately I have rules. I won’t do anything cruel or cowardly. But empty threats aside, if you let me stay I’ll grant you a wish.”

“I thought it was genies who granted wishes, not magicians.”

“I’m feeling charitable. Go on, tell me what you want. The love of some pudding-brained villager, bars of gold, a mirror wide enough for you to see your whole face?”

“Anything I want, no strings attached?”

“Anything, as long as it isn’t cruel or cowardly. And no raising the dead but I think that one falls under cruel.”

“Travel. I want to travel the world.”

“You’ve got it. Help me out of this jam and you’ve got a round trip ticket and the funds to go wherever you like.”

“You can seriously make that happen?”

He shrugged. “Never tried before but I’ll at least give it a go. Ordinary documents are distressingly easy to forge for any magician half worth his salt.”

She bit her lip and looked around the library. She hadn’t wanted this job in the first place but the market for librarians was limited. A year of travel would do her a lot of good. She wasn’t sure she could trust this man but it was low risk, letting him spend an evening here, and potentially high reward.  Plus she still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t turn her into a beluga whale. “I accept.”

He beamed at her. “Good choice, Clara Oswald. I’ll try to have the place in one piece when you return in the morning. Good night, off you go.”

“Not so fast- if you’re staying, I’m staying. Can’t leave you unattended.”

“Any why not?”

“Because I’m responsible for this library. I can’t have you burning the place down, or sketching pentagrams into the floor, or, I don’t know, changing all the books so they’re written in Swahili.”

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does everyone always think its pentagrams? I promise, no physical damage. Though I’ve never tried to change the language on this many books before…”

“Exactly why I’m staying.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They sat at the table and stared at one another. Clara broke the silence first.

“Ok, I give in, I have to know. Why are you running from this other magician?”

“I told you, I have something she wants.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“Me.”

“Sorry?”

“Me. Well, certain part of me.”

“Which parts? Like your brain or something?”

“No, unfortunately not my brain. Something a bit… lower.”

“Lower? Oh. Oh! You mean- lower?”

“Precisely. She wants me as a mate. Some stupid prophecy about two powerful magicians together producing Merlin’s own heir. Which is rubbish, I can’t even find proof there ever was a Merlin.”

“And you don’t want to be her mate?”

“Missy? Goodness, no. Too dark, too manipulative. And, truthfully, a terrible kisser.”

“Where do you come from anyway?”

“Glasgow.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“No, I really do! I’m not a wizard from a far off land, Clara.”

“Magician, wizard- what’s the difference?”

“Wizards aren’t real, for one. And magicians aren’t born Clara, they’re made. Via apprenticeship, most often. Missy and I were Borusa’s apprentices, that’s how we met. You have to have a natural talent, of course, but it won’t do much for you without training. And most never discover if they have the gift.”

“Why’s that?”

The Doctor rested his chin his hand. “Skepticism, I suppose. You saw me enter the shop, I know you did, because you pursued me down the aisle. But the second you saw me as a bird you started explaining to yourself, didn’t you, how it must have been a bird all along. Even though you saw my coat and heard my footsteps coming inside and going around the corner.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Magic has a sort of perception filter. The human mind is conditioned to explain it away as the mundane. Half of learning to be a magician operating in the open is just learning to take advantage of man’s natural stupidity.”

“Show me then. Show me some more magic.”

“If you insist.” Clara heard a soft “pop” and found herself staring at an owl with truly impressive eyebrows. 

“Got a bit of a bird thing, do you?”

The Doctor was human again. “No, just wanted to show you I could do a native bird. Long-eared owl.”

“It suits you. What else can you do?”

The Doctor mumbled a bit and waived his hands. A tray appeared in front of Clara with a warm pot of tea. “Care for a cup?”

“Whoa, you made that?”

“Err, not exactly." The Doctor reddened slightly. "More like- borrowed?”

“Stolen tea?”

“Borrowed.”

“Well, since I’m stuck here with you all night I guess that’s alright.” She let him pour her a cup. “So how do you find out if you can do it, then?”

“Typically when another magician stumbles upon you. Odd circumstances drawing people together, that sort of thing.”

Clara’s pulse quickened. “Like this?”

The Doctor leaned toward her, eyes narrowed. She felt vulnerable under his gaze. After a moment he said a single word. “Perhaps.”

“Well, can you teach me a bit, to see if I can do it?”

“Learning just a bit is pretty dangerous.”

“Come on, something small. Let’s see if I can, I don’t know, change my hair color, or make myself a bit taller. Or maybe transform into a stick insect, you look like you’d be good at that.”

“Stick insect? No, Clara, self-transformation is tricky business, it would take years of instruction. I could do it for you now but we need to see if you can do something on your own. Let’s try something else. Call it an aptitude test.” Clara nodded. “What to use, what to use. Well, we are in a library. Standard repelling exercise might work.” He retrieved a book from the shelf and set it on the table. “Concentrate on the book. Think about it sliding off the table and hitting the floor. When you think you’ve got that in your mind, take a breath in, pause, and exhale slowly while imaging the book falling.”

Clara took a series of breaths. The book didn’t move.

“Relax a bit more. Concentrate but don’t strain. Does that make sense?”

She tried again. Still no movement.

The Doctor crouched down next to her and met her eyes. Intense blue, absolutely stunning close up. She forgot to breathe. He shook his head. “No, breathe more slowly, not stop altogether, Clara. In, yes, like that. And then slowly, out, and-”

Clara followed along but was still unable to move the book. The Doctor looked puzzled. “I definitely feel… something. I’m sure you can do this. Hmmm. You can boss around a bird, but not a book?”

“Boss it around?”

“Yes, you’re supposed to sort of tell the book to go.”

“Oh.” A second later the book slammed to the floor.

“Good, good! That was fantastic.”

“I did that? I really just did that!”

He was grinning again, that mad lopsided smile. Up close she found the effect less troubling and even charming. “Yes, and with a bit of training you could do so, so much more.”

“Yes, yes you could. Pity you won’t.” Clara turned to see a dark-haired woman leaning against a shelf. She was wearing an odd assortment of clothes, modern and outdated, and deep red lipstick. Her accent matched the Doctor’s which must mean-

“Missy,” the Doctor growled, rising from his position next to Clara.

“Please do make the proper introductions, Doctor. Hello, nice to meet you. Clara, was it? I’m Missy, the Doctor’s, well, companion, I suppose. Or he’s mine. Depends on the circumstances of course.” The woman winked.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“Can’t do that, sorry. You know what I want. Come quietly and I won’t harm your friend. Or come loudly, actually, it’ll be so much more fun if you enjoy it.”

Clara felt the Doctor’s hand around her wrist, pulling her to the ground. She felt her body bristle. Hair. She was suddenly covered in fine, soft hair. “Doctor, why have I got so much hair?”

“Because you are one. Now- run!” She looked ahead to see a large, grey hare sprinting between the legs of the woman in the doorway. She leapt after it. They ran on, Clara’s enlarged ears picking up a bark. She briefly turned to see a greyhound nipping at her heels. “Don’t make me bite, darlings, it’s really better if we save that for the bedroom,” the dog snarled.

With a jolt she found she was even smaller. She glanced around, a dozen separate fields of vision swimming before her. A fly. She struggled to walk. Something sticky was dragging her back. A spider wearing Missy’s hat was using a web to pull her in. “Help!” Clara buzzed. Another fly flew through the web, freeing her.

A second later Clara felt very warm and quite itchy. She spun around to find she had grown dark wool. A lighter ram stood to her side, head lowered. Before they could speak another sheep charged at them.

Clara braced for impact and found herself rising in the air. She felt a pinch on her shoulders. Not so much flying but being dragged. She struggled against her captor. “Clara, it’s me.” The Doctor was carrying her, except he was a crane this time and she was, what? She felt for her own limbs and discovered wings. Much smaller than the Doctor. A wren. The Doctor set her gently on a tree branch and landed on the ground beneath her. “Come on, fly down, I’ve got an idea!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can, you’ve got wings. It’s sort of a glide. Instinctual, really, once you do it.”

He was a bird, she was a bird, and they were talking. Nothing over the past few hours made any sense but it all felt so real. She jumped.

Clara found having wings was a marvelous thing. She flapped, regaining height, then dove to meet the Doctor, landing softly at his side. His human side. She glanced down at  and found she ordinary arms once again. “That was amazing.”

He smiled at her. “See why I favor birds? Anyway, she’ll be here any mo- ah yes. Hello, again Missy.”

“Doctor.”

“One last chance. Leave us now or I’ll have to take corrective action.”

“Corrective action? Need I remind you I’m a much stronger magician? You’re just more creative. But you can’t outrun me forever.”

“We won’t need to. And maybe it’s true that on my own there’s no way I could stop you. But I discovered something today.” He took Clara’s hand in his and raised their joined arms as high as Clara could reach.

“Oh that little librarian? She hasn’t had any training. You don’t even know how strong she is yet. She’s probably a middling hedge witch at best.”

“You don’t need training if you’ve got something else.” The Doctor started whispering in a language Clara couldn’t recognize.

“And what is that, dear,” Missy cackled.

“CHEMISTRY!” the Doctor roared, tugging Clara’s arm down after his, slicing through the air. Clara’s eyes shut tight as she felt a chill go through her entire body. A deep, sharp snap echoed through the air. She chanced opening her eyes.

On the grass lay a massive book, unlike any Clara had ever seen. It was bound with burgundy leather and the cover was stamped in gold foil. Clara couldn’t read the title which was written in odd, circular characters.

“The language of the magicians,” the Doctor offered. “Go ahead, open it. Clara knelt down and lifted the cover. Missy, pressed flat, paced the pages, wordlessly shouting up at them. Clara closed the book and stood.

“You did that?”

“No, Clara. _We_ did that.”

“I did magic?”

“Yes. Does that frighten you, Clara Oswald?”

She searched her mind and easily found the answer. “No.”

“Good. So, about that wish of yours.”

“Yes?”

The Doctor turned his hand, palm up, toward her. “All the wonders of the world, no plane ticket needed. Will you join me?”

They vanished, crane and wren, into the night.

 

 

 


End file.
